


Fell in Love with Melancholy

by orphan_account



Category: Addams Family (TV 1964), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark Humor, Domestic, Family, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Macabre, Mild Language, Summer Camp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-04 23:49:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5352944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Addams Family AU. Zayn’s summer starts to look bleak once his grossly in love parents ship him and his brother Niall off to a camp directed by two overzealous counselors and overrun by snotty children. Meanwhile, Harry and Louis embark on an epic twentieth anniversary vacation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Louis and Harry are inspired by Morticia and Gomez. Zayn is based on Wednesday and Niall is based on Pugsley.
> 
> “The Addamses are a satirical inversion of the ideal American family; an eccentric, wealthy clan who delight in the macabre and are unaware, or do not care, that other people find them bizarre or frightening. Although most of the humor derives from the fact that they share macabre interests, the Addamses are not typically evil.”
> 
> The summer camp plot is inspired from The Addams Family Values, but the rest is mine. Some of the original quotes from the movies and tv show made it in here, look for them!
> 
> This story involves some dark humor regarding death, so if that could trigger or offend you in any way I suggest you don’t read. This is a complete work of fiction and is no way representative of the boys or any people affiliated with them. 
> 
> Completely unbeated so I apologize for any mistakes! This is just pure silliness.

 

The population of the little town of Witchbourough pride themselves on being quiet, respectful, and of the ordinary sort. They live in identical brick houses nestled amongst linear streets and have neatly trimmed lawns just the right shade of green, not unnaturally fluorescent or dismally brown. Every child bakes cookies for their teachers, plays tennis as an extracurricular, and attends Sunday school with an enthusiastic smile on their face. The town’s motto, _“Normalcy is next to Godliness,”_ is proudly plastered across the welcome sign and frequently repeated as a mantra by Witchbourough’s citizens. In other words, everything is absolutely perfect.

Well, _almost_.  
****

If one were to venture just outside the city limits, take a left at the fork in the road, and travel down the winding dirt path for roughly a mile, they would be met with quite a different sight. Behind a rusty wrought iron fence a large, gloomy mansion looms over an expansive property. The mansion is riddled with boarded windows, and the only plants growing on the estate are weeds. A graveyard hugs the left side of the grey edifice while a toxic, black pond occupies the right. There, in that home, resides a family so old and rich and powerful that the sheer mention of their name makes the populace of Witchborough quake in their loafers: the Tomlinson-Styles.

([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gFD7KGBUtKI))

*

****Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc** **

“Louis, you look positively dreadful this morning.”

“It is way too early for dirty talk, Harry. The children are bound to come down any minute,” Louis responds, not taking his eyes off the Sunday morning paper. He can’t read the obituaries properly if Harry keeps trying to distract him.

Harry huffs out a sigh but is not deterred. Sliding his hand across the table where they are currently sat at, he envelopes Louis’ hand in his. He brings the delicate hand to his lips and pecks it sweetly while maintaining a transfixed gaze on Louis.

“You know what's coming up this Wednesday?” Harry purrs and gently runs his fingers over the silver band occupying Louis’ left ring finger.

Louis snaps his gaze from the paper, blue eyes sparkling. “Our wedding anniversary.” Placing down the paper, he entwines his hands with Harry’s. “I knew there was a reason you're wearing your finest smoking jacket. That dark red velvet stirs up so many memories…” Louis’ eyes cloud in reminiscence.

“My little bat,” Harry says, ever the one for ridiculously sappy declarations, “it feels as if the wedding was only yesterday. You wore that devilish, black suit that absolutely drove me wild, dancing the mamushka till dawn! Everyone’s eyes were on you, you absolute parasite!” In a fit of energetic passion he jumps out of his seat and rounds the table to pull Louis up into a tight embrace.

“ _Mon chéri_.” Louis presses his lips against Harry’s, slow and sensual, completely forgetting all his reservations from before.

“Oh Lou, that’s French!” Harry mumbles around Louis’ lips. Harry adores when Louis speaks French to him. Louis is aware of this and uses it frequently to his advantage.

Just as Harry moves his hands to grope Louis’ bum, a loud crash resonates from the upstairs followed by two boys scampering into the room. Louis detracts himself from Harry with a reluctant sigh and turns to the face the boys, his arms crossed and eyebrow quirked unimpressed.

The taller one of the two boys who had just entered the room has an olive skin tone, flawlessly coiffed hair, and dark, brooding eyes. He's wearing a black button up cardigan and black dress trousers. On his face sits an expression of absolute indifference. The other, a younger and blonde haired boy, is dressed in a black and white striped shirt paired with dark cargo shorts. His mouth is twisted in a frown.

“What is the meaning of all this racket? You two were loud enough to wake the dead!” Louis scolds. “We don't need Auntie Gothel rising from the grave again!”

Harry nods in agreement. It had been absolute chaos when [Thing](http://www.baxterst.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/thing.gif), his right hand man (literally a detached right hand), alerted him that Gothel had tossed his children into the pond because their clamor had stirred her from her beauty rest six feet underground.  Harry quickly looks out the window facing the cemetery to make sure Auntie G hadn't actually awakened from the noise. Thankfully, all is still in the graveyard.

“It's all Zayn’s fault, Papa!” Niall, the blonde haired boy, complains as he points an accusatory finger at his brother. “He came into my room and asked me if he could decapitate my G.I. Joe, and I was like ‘No, shut up I'm trying to sleep,’ and then next thing I know he's taking my guillotine out of the closet, which woke me up again, and I was like ‘Give it back Zayn! You can't have it! It's mine!’ and Zayn was like ‘Shut up, Niall, you hair looks like Heat Miser’s from _A Year Without A Santa Clause_. I bet Santa will bring you actual presents this year because you've been so good!’ and I was like ‘You take that back!’ and then-”

“Enough!” Louis firmly but calmly interrupts Niall. “Zayn, what did I saw about torturing your brother?”

“Only to do it after breakfast,” Zayn responds dully while examining his cuticles.

“Exactly. Now come eat some breakfast. Dad made some unpalatable pickled cow tongue.” Louis shoos the kids towards the table. That doesn’t stop Niall from sticking out his tongue at Zayn behind Louis’ back. Zayn rolls his eyes and flips him off.

Once Louis sits back down Harry leans over and gives him a peck on the cheek. “We’ll finish what we started later, _mo chuisle_ ,” he murmurs in Louis’ ear, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Louis’ face remains impassive as he doles out servings of cow tongue, but Harry notices the faint pink dusting his husband’s cheeks. He grins smugly and sits back on in his chair while simultaneously slipping Thing a high-five underneath the table.

“Our parents are so horny,” Niall whispers to Zayn out the corner of his mouth, watching the bizarrely affectionate scene. Zayn nods his head and shovels another forkful of cow tongue into his mouth.

*********** **

“You ring the bell!”

“No, you ring it!”

Bill Waters glares at his wife. When she doesn’t back down he tries a different approach. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

Melinda Waters rolls her eyes in response. “I married a juvenile.” Marching up to the oak door, she pushes down on the doorbell firmly. “Honestly, Bill, at least act like you want to meet them.”

“I didn’t even want to move, let alone meet our creepy neighbors! You’re the one who wanted to move! ‘Let’s move somewhere exotic!’ you said. Is this exotic enough, huh? Nobody near us for a mile except this cheery abode,” he mocks.

“I’m this close to leaving you here all by yourself.” Melinda holds her thumb and pointer finger a centimeter apart.

“Look at this place,” Bill continues as if he didn’t hear her, motioning to the bleak house they’re currently standing in front of. “It looks like something that would give Vincent Price nightmares!” The front porch aptly groans under the couple, and Bill swears something screeches at him from the bushes.

“Shhhh! What if they hear you?” Melinda hisses, whipping her head around looking for any possible eavesdroppers. Leave it to Bill to piss off the owners of this house and get them murdered. Melinda wouldn’t say it out loud because that would be admitting defeat, but if her clammy hands racing heartbeat are any indication, she’s frightened as well.

Inside the house, Harry is in the private study tinkering with his toy train set collection when he hears the doorbell ring. “Lurch, good fellow, is there someone at the door?” He prods the butler sitting next to him.

“Mmmkfph.” Lurch groans in response and shuffles off to go investigate.

“Bring our guests in here, will you?” Harry hollers at the butler’s retreating form before quickly turning back to his trains.

Melinda and Bill are still squabbling when the front door creaks open. When they turned to see who opened it they both let out piercing shrieks and clamp their hands over their gaping mouths. Before them stands a man who looks exactly like a Dr. Frankenstein reject. At a towering height of 6 ft 8in., he takes up the entire arching doorway with his broad stature. His limp, black hair flops over a square forehead, and one of his eyes is opaque while the other, a beetle brown color, scans the guests intensely.

Once the man concludes his visual inspection, he speaks. “Come in,” he says, his voice a deep baritone. The cautious couple share a look of fear before swallowing back their instincts and following the man through the dark doorway.

The duo trail behind Frankenstein Jr., gawking at the peculiar interior of the mansion as they trudge down a seemingly endless hallway. They pass a room stuffed floor to ceiling with jars filled with various pickled limbs crammed inside of them. Bill almost jumps into his wife’s arms when he sees an eyeball in one of the jars rotate, following the group as they walk past.

“Do you think he’s luring us into his lair so he can kill us and eat our brains?” Bill whispers to his wife, giving Lurch an untrusting glance. Melinda pinches his arm.

“Don’t give him any ideas,” she hisses.

“If we die, I hope you know that this was all you’re-” Bill runs smack into Lurch’s back, not realizing the butler had stopped outside a door.

“Sorry!” Bill sputters.

Lurch doesn't respond and instead knocks on the door one time firmly before pulling it open and ushering the petrified couple into the room.

Inside the study the couple is met with an outlandish sight. Behind a large table covered with an intricate set up of toy trains tracks and trains, stands a striking man. His brown hair falls in loose ringlets to just above his shoulders and he’s wearing a black suit with thin pinstripes of red running vertically down his trousers and double-breasted jacket. A train conductor's cap is jauntily perched on his head and his vibrant green eyes shine brightly and his smile dimples as he fusses around with the gizmos sitting on the table. The entire look gives off eccentric, yet fashion conscious, millionaire realness.

“Mr. Tomlinson-Styles,” the butler says flatly. Harry gives no response, still engrossed on the miniature train track set up he has before him. When Lurch gives no more movement to gain the man’s attention, Melinda bravely steps forward.

“Excuse me, Mister, we just popped by to say hello. We are the Waters-”

“Shhhh!” Harry waves his arm in the air. “Watch this,” he proclaims, gesturing to the two trains making rounds on the tracks.

“They’re going to crash!” Bill yelps when he notices the two trains are angling to hit head on.

“Isn’t that so, right?” Harry presses a large button on a remote control, and the contraption explodes just before the trains collide, little bits of the tracks flying in every direction. The room sits in stunned silence.

“Beautiful!” Harry cheers gleefully.

“You meant to blow them up?” questions Melinda, eyes wide.

“Of course, why else would a grown man play with trains?” Harry chortles, taking off his cap and setting it down on the table. He then turns to face the couple. “Harry Tomlinson-Styles,” he offers a handshake to each of them nonchalantly as if he just didn't blow up a train. “Now what can I do for you two?”

“We just came by to introduce ourselves, new to the neighborhood and all. I'm Melinda, and this is my husband Bill. We live just down the road in the white house.”

“New neighbors!” Harry claps his hands together enthusiastically. “We haven't had new neighbors in ages! Lou will love this!” He turns to Lurch who’s standing in the corner. “Go fetch Louis will you, good fellow? We’ll be in the living room.” The butler gives a grunt of affirmation and shuffles off. Harry looks over his shoulder at the couple. “My husband will just absolutely eat you two up,” he gushes.

Louis Tomlinson-Styles turns out to be equally peculiar as his husband. His regal presence fills up the room as he glides in, not uttering single word. He offers a nod to the Waters before taking a seat next to Harry. The combination of his crystal blue eyes and prominent cheekbones would've produced an almost ethereal pixie look, except that his completely black garb and aloof expression taint the image. Instead he is like a black widow, enthralling and elusive.

Harry and Louis are currently making goo-goo eyes at each other, communicating silently as if nobody else was in the room. Bill decides to interrupt when he sees Harry starting to get handsy.

“So, Louis, how did you two meet?” Bill prompts. Though he was mostly trying to distract Harry from humping Louis right in front of him, he is also curious about how this astonishing duo came to be.

Louis pries himself out of Harry's grasp and turns to face Bill, a fond expression resting on his face. “It was many years ago,” he begins.“A rather dark and enchanting night. A full moon. Magic in the air. A boy.” Louis places his hand softly on Harry’s knee, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Another boy,” smirks Harry as he removes Louis’ hand from his knee and places a tender kiss on his knuckles.

“An open grave,” Louis reminisces, thinking of that cloudy day as Harry peppers his palm with sweet kisses. “It was my first funeral,” he adds, and a wistful expression overtakes his face. He moves his other hand to gently card through Harry’s curls.

Harry lifts his head. “You were so beautiful. Pale and mysterious. No one even looked at the corpse. It was the perfect first date.”

“It's actually our twentieth anniversary this upcoming Wednesday,” Louis tears his gaze away from Harry to address the Waters.

“Oh really?” Melinda says, startled that Louis even remembered that there were others in the room. “That’s lovely, so lovely. Isn’t it lovely, Bill?” When he doesn’t answer she digs her elbow into his side causing him to yelp.

“So lovely!” Bill squeaks out, rubbing his probably now developing bruise. He had zoned out of the conversation even though he was the one to ask a question. He was instead mentally cataloguing all the knick-knacks scattered throughout the living room. Right above the fireplace hangs an oil painting of someone who he is almost certain is Anne Boleyn.

“Twenty is a big milestone. Any specials plans?” inquires Melinda.

“Well, we had a week long vacation all planned out and everything, but Mama canceled babysitting last minute, a séance convention of some sort, and now we can’t go because we don’t have anyone to watch the kids.” Louis says glumly.

“And there’s no one else you can get to babysit?”

“We've been blacklisted from every babysitter in town,” Harry explains. “Something to do with Zayn and Niall being ‘spawn of the devil.’” He chuckles humorously. “One of the greatest compliments I have ever received about my parenting.”

Melinda feels something tug at her heart as she observes the distressed couple. She doesn't completely understand it, but she feels a desire to help them. Their simple plea for a week of getaway romance reminds her of what it was like when her children were still living at home. It was incredibly difficult to find a moment of peace while the constant chaos. Just then, an idea strikes her.

“I know what you could do!”

“You do?” Bill asks, puzzled.

“Summer camp!” Melinda exclaims. “That's where Bill and I sent the kids. A little one called Camp Chippewa, actually just around an hour and a half outside of Witchborough. Our kids loved it!”

Harry's face lights up but then swiftly crumbles. “It would be too short of a notice to sign Zayn and Niall up now.”

Melinda waves a hand as she fishes her cell phone out of her pocket. “It's only late May, so I don't think the camp will be filled up because some schools are still in session. Besides, I know the director of the camp personally because all of three of our kids went there for many years. I'm sure I could call in a favor. It's only two boys.” She rises and moves to the hallway. “I'll only be a few minutes,” she says and then disappears from view.

She reemerges twenty minutes later, a smile on her face. “I had to pull a few strings, but Camp Chippewa is expecting Niall and Zayn this Tuesday around noon.”

“Oh, thank you so much!” Harry wrings his hands. “You don’t know how much this means to us.” Louis nods in agreement.

“No problem,” Melinda waves it off. “You just have to call their main office around five tonight to confirm details and negotiate prices. Then you have to print out the camp and health forms off their website and turn them in when you drop off the boys.”

“There must be something we can do for you,” Louis persists. “You’ve done so much for us.”

“All I did was make a phone call, it’s not like it was tedious work.”

Harry claps his hands together. “I have just the thing,” he declares. “Lurch,” Harry address the butler who up until this point had been playing candy crush on his phone in the corner. “Bring the Waters the rest of the cow tongue meal to take home!” Lurch nods sullenly and trudges off in the direction of the kitchen. “My treat,” Harry winks at Bill and Melinda as their faces contort into utter revulsion, and they sputter out urgent excuses to leave before Lurch could return with the food.

*********** **

“Summer camp!” Zayn spits bitterly, pacing in front of Niall, the attic floorboards creaking beneath him. Niall picks at the lint on the couch, a glazed over look of disinterest settling across his features. “I knew it was only matter of time before they shipped us off, Niall. This is a slippery slope, Niall, a slippery slope indeed! You know what comes after summer camp?”

“What?” Niall asks, his mouth twisting into a frown. He just remembered that he forgot to record the _Dirty Jobs_ marathon that was airing tonight. This sucks.

“Preparatory school! Classes about poise and etiquette! How to drink tea with our pinkies up! Horseback riding! Brunch!”

“I like brunch.”

“I had plans, Niall! Big plans! And now the parentals are shipping us off to some hoinky doinky camp!”

“Oh no,” mumbles Niall, starting to recite the alphabet backwards in his head. What comes before Z again?

Zayn sighs and stops pacing. “You're not even listening to me.” He flops down onto the couch.

Niall shrugs. “It’s only for a week. Besides, summer camp sounds fun. ”

Zayn squints, a plan formulating in his head. This was the summer that he was going to come into his own, prove his place in the family’s long history of revered and erudite witches (including his Papa) and summer camp will only delay his plans. He really need Niall on his side, and it looks like it’s going to call for some drastic measures.  “You know what's fun, Niall?”

“What?”

“Life or death situations that will haunt you as long as you live because of the consuming fear that you made the wrong decision.”

And with that, Zayn springs up off the couch and immediately begins scanning the room. He smiles once his eyes land on what he was looking for- the family toy chest. He walks over to the box and pulls out his prized possession: a Marie Antoinette doll, complete with a missing head.

It’s obvious that the doll’s once grandiose attire has seen better days, the creamy yellow of its silk dress now frayed and sporting more of a sickly green color, and one sleeve of the dress is completely torn off. The formerly shiny golden curls are now matted into disheveled chunks. One eye is permanently fastened shut due to a rather rough game of headball, and the intricate painting on the face is chipping away. In Zayn’s eyes, she's perfect.

Zayn fishes the doll’s detached head out of the chest, jams it back onto the body, and then shoves the doll in Niall’s face.

“Look here, Niall,” Zayn says wiggling the doll in front of him. “Marie Antoinette. Do you know who she is?”

“Yeah, I learned-”

“Let me give you a bit of a history lesson. You see, Marie was a humanitarian, the history books have got it all wrong. Vacationing was if the upmost importance. While peasants starved throughout France, she ordered the construction of the extravagant Petit Hameau. Apparently she had her  ladies-in-waiting dress up as peasants and pretended to be milkmaids in the retreat.” Zayn gazes at the doll admiringly. “She’s my hero.”

Niall snorts but doesn’t say anything. He’s heard this speech about a thousand times before.

“I’d let you come to my royal retreat when I’m older. For a fair price, of course. I wouldn't let in just anyone. Maybe if you dress up as a shepherd I’ll half the cost,” muses Zayn.

“Thank you, Zayn. You are too kind,” Niall deadpans.

“I try. Now stand up!” Zayn commands, his tone switching to serious. “I have a little experiment that will change your mind about this summer camp debacle.”

Zayn then swiftly turns on his heel and walks to the attic window. Opening the window, he puts one foot out the opening and onto the balcony that juts out below it. He turns his head towards Niall who is still sitting on the couch. “Are you coming or not?” Zayn asks impatiently. Niall shrugs. He doesn’t have anything better to do now that his tv plans are ruined, so he ambles after Zayn outside onto the balcony.

The light of the full moon spills onto their faces as they take in the revolting fresh air. The wind rustles through the leafless trees, and off in the distance a wolf howls followed by terrified shrieks.

“I have two things in my hands,” Zayn says. “The first is Marie Antoinette.” He holds the doll up in his right hand. “The second is your G.I. Joe.” Zayn pulls the action figure of his pocket and holds it in his left hand.

Niall gasps and makes a grab for his toy. “Give it back, Zayn!”

Zayn raises his arm up and out of Niall’s reach. “You can have your toy back if you answer this question correctly.” He holds the two items out in front of him so that they're both hanging over the edge of the balcony. “This doll weighs 3 pounds while your G.I. weighs less than one. If I drop them both from the same height and at the same time, which one will hit the stone walkway first?”

A frown creases on Niall’s brow as he ponders the question. After thirty seconds he lets out an irritated groan. “I don’t know! I’m only on factions!” He makes another grab for the toy, but Zayn lifts it into the air again.

“I have another proposition for you,” Zayn says. “If I give your G.I. Joe back to you, will you swear to protest this summer camp scheme with me. I need you on my side to take down Papa and Dad.”

Niall huffs out a sigh. “Fine,” he agrees and sticks out his hand. Zayn hands over the action figure.

“You’re learning so well, Niall,” Zayn nods in approval of his brother’s obedience. “Now, time to plan our course of action. But first,” Zayn stops to pat his stomach, “to the kitchen to get some cookies!” Niall cheers as Zayn drags him back through the window. Who knew rebellion could taste so sweet?

*********** **

Their first plan fails miserably.

“Lou, did you move those papers for camp? I swore I put them here,” Harry calls out. Zayn stifles a giggle from his hiding spot under the dining table. So far, the scheme has gone without hitch. No camp forms means no camp.

“No, I didn’t move them. I could print out some more,” Louis responds, as he moves into the room to help Harry search.

“Shit,” Zayn murmurs under his breath. That’s such an obvious loophole.

“Thanks.” Harry gives Louis a loud and wet kiss. Zayn tries not to throw up as they leave the room. He checks to make sure the coast is clear and bolts out of his hiding place.

“How’d it go?” Niall asks excitedly once Zayn reaches the safety of headquarters, aka Niall’s room. Zayn shakes his head.

“We’re need to try a different approach,” he says. “They’re too powerful and smart together. But don’t worry, Nialler, I’ve got just the plan.”

The next idea is a major bust as well.

“So, Niall, you’re telling me that you’ve contracted the Black Plague.” Louis raises his eyebrows skeptically, his arms crossed and hip popped.

Niall nods his head. He hopes that he looks pathetic and ill enough. He throws a pitiful cough in for good measure and pulls the bedsheets farther up over him.

“Hmmm, interesting.” Louis says, placing a hand across Niall’s forehead to check for a temperature. “Well I guess since you’re too sick for summer camp, you must be too sick for the Justin Bieber concert we’re supposed to go to next week. I’ll have to give away the tickets, but you’re health is much more important.”

“No!” Niall yelps, bolting upright in bed.  “I mean,” he releases another pathetic cough, “no.” He mentally curses himself for being so transparent. Meryl Streep wouldn’t crack under pressure. But Meryl Streep wasn’t threatened with never seeing Justin perform live, so there.

Louis smirks, knowing that he’s won. “That suitcase won't pack itself.” He motions to the empty luggage by the foot of Niall’s bed. “We leave for camp tomorrow morning.” He then walks out of the room, closing the door with a click.

Niall nervously chews on his fingernails before texting Zayn: _do you think I need to pack one or two bottles of sunblock?_

_***** _

Zayn hunkers further down in his seat as the family’s hearse passes a sign announcing “ _Welcome to Camp Chippewa_ ” in wonky, large lettering. He can already hear the joyful shouts of children frolicking in the crystal lake up ahead. It’s like his own personal hell.

“Camp Chippewa, how charming,” Louis remarks disdainfully, lowering his Audrey Hepburn style sunglasses to get a better look at the wooden cabins coming into view.

“What’s a Chippewa?” Niall asks.

“An old Native American word,” begins Harry, ready to give another one of his long-winded explanations.

“It means orphan.” Zayn says flatly before anyone could explain further. All Harry does is shake his head and release a chuckle. Kids these days.

Lurch maneuvers the car into the camp parking lot, the black hearse sticking out like a bruise against the shiny silvers and spotless whites of the BMW’s and Audi’s. Everyone files out and makes their way to the front of the camp.

“Fresh air.” Harry wrinkles his nose. “The scent of pine.”

“Zayn, look at all of the children,” Louis says, gesturing to the other kids laughing and skipping. “Freckles, their bright little eyes, their eager, friendly smiles.” He raises his eyebrows, concern riddled across his features. “Help them,” he pleads before a shrill voice interrupts.

“Hi, I’m Taylor Swift,” a blonde, bubbly teen introduces. Her narrowed blue eyes inspecting the Tomlinson-Styles as she smoothes down her floral sundress and adjusts the matching headband perched on her head. “Why are you dressed like that?” she inquires, her mouth pursing judgmentally.

“Like what.” Zayn glares.

“Like you’re going to a funeral,” Taylor remarks snidely. “Why are you dressed like somebody _died_?” She spits out the last word venomously.

“Are you volunteering?” Zayn takes a step closer to her. Taylor leaps back in shock, her confident exterior slipping for a second.

“Hi,” a blonde man pops up next to Taylor, “Don Swift.” He extends his hand first to Louis and then to Harry, offering them both a blinding smile. “Isn’t this place just something else? Very exclusive,” he boasts.

“Oh, really?” asks Harry.

“Oh, yeah. A kid has to be extra special to get in here. Gifted. Exceptional.” He pats Taylor on the head. “My Taylor has already skipped two grades. How about this one?” He nods in Niall’s direction.

“Probation.” Harry beams, ruffling Niall’s hair.

“Taylor just couldn’t wait for Chippewa,” gushes Mr. Swift. “It’s all that she would talk about. Got a whole new wardrobe and everything. What about this handsome, young boy?” ************

He gestures towards Zayn who is currently muttering curses directed towards Taylor under his breath.

“Oh Zayn’s at a very special age where a boy only has one thing on his mind,” Louis responds, giving Mr. Swift a knowing glance.

“Romance?” Don leans in like he and Zayn are about to share a huge secret.

“Homicide.” Zayn says monotonously while imagining what it be like to kick this man in the face. It would feel very good, he concludes. Don makes a startled face but doesn’t have time to respond before a piercing whistle rings throughout the camp.

“Hey! Listen up everybody!” Screams a nasally voice. An unnaturally orange man with short hair, a squash like nose, and dressed in head to toe cargo motions for people to gather around him.

“Dad and I will go drop off the forms,” Louis whispers in Zayn’s ear before dropping kiss on his cheek and doing the same to Niall. “We’ll see you in a week, loves. Bring back some poison ivy,” and with that, Harry and Louis slip away, leaving Niall and Zayn completely at the mercy of the obviously deranged Swift family.

“I’m Dan W.,” the man squawks, causing everyone around him to cover his or her ears at the painfully high decibel. He motions to the equally orange man next to him. “And this is Simon C.” The man waves one stocky hand, beady eyes skimming the crowd. “We’re the directors here at Camp Chippewa,” Dan continues, “one of the top summer camp destinations for privileged young adults! We’re here to learn,” he points to his head, “to grow,” he flexes his tiny muscles, “and to just plain have fun!” He claps and looks to Simon, nearly squealing when he gets a nod of approval.

“Because that’s being privileged is all about,” Simon concludes.  A large crowd of pastel loving children break out in cheers and run off to go find their friends.

“Mom, I don’t think I like it here,” Liam whispers urgently, turning away from the mob of kids. He lets out a huge sneeze (they all smell like Abercrombie and Fitch perfume and it makes his sinuses act up) and runs a nervous hand through his floppy, brown hair and adjusts the collar of his plaid shirt.

“Oh, will you stop already! Do you see how filthy you are?” says Ms. Payne, pulling out a handkerchief to dab vigorously on Liam’s face as he tries to twist out of her reach.

In his attempt to escape from his mother’s grasp, Liam’s squirming makes him end up facing the swarm of adolescents.. Amid a sea of baby blues and lilacs is one of the most peculiar people Liam has ever seen. A boy, around his age, clothed head to toe in black stands in the center of the chaos like the eye of the storm. His flawlessly styled hair doesn't budge in the breeze as he scowls at the tittering teens surrounding him.  A younger boy with blonde hair sidles up to him and they start whispering furiously, irritated looks on their faces.

 _Who is that boy?_ Liam's thinks to himself. He doesn’t look like a typical camper, more like a runway model that got lost somewhere between Camp Chippewa and Paris Fashion Week and he can’t leave because his private jet is broken. Suddenly, the boy’s eyes snap up, meeting his. Liam has the decency to blush; embarrassed that he was caught staring like a proper creeper. He turns to look away, but he doesn’t miss the boy flipping him off before walking away. _Great. Day one of summer camp hell_ _and I've already made enemies_ , Liam chastises himself. That doesn't stop him from sneaking one more look at the boy’s retreating form before his parents pull him into a stifling group hug.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The summer camp plot is inspired by The Addams Family Values, but the rest is mine. Some of the original quotes from the movies and tv show made it in here, look for them!  
> This story involves some dark humor regarding death, so if that could trigger or offend you in any way I suggest you don’t read. This is a complete work of fiction and is no way representative of the boys or any people affiliated with them and I do not own The Addams Family or One Direction.  
> Thank you to anyone who has read this fic! Completely unbeated so I apologize for any mistakes. This is just pure silliness.

_Tweeeeeeeet!_

Dan removes the whistle from his mouth as those around him cry out and cover their ears at the piercing noise. “Lifeguard lessons, kiddos!  Follow me!” Dan motions for the campers congregated around him to head onto the dock that juts out over the lake. A parade of teens wearing red Camp Chippewa sanctioned swimsuits march out in an orderly line while Zayn and Niall, wearing the old-fashioned black swimsuits they brought from home, trail behind the group a couple of paces.

“Do you think there are leeches in the lake?” Niall asks in a hushed tone.

“One can only hope, Nialler. I haven't had my blood sucked in over a year,” Zayn responds. Last summer the Tomlinson-Styles clan traveled to Sighișoara, Romania to visit some distant relatives. It was wild trip to say the least.

“ _Leeches_?” Liam hisses, turning around to face Zayn. His eyes widen and pulse quickens. He's read the camp’s welcome brochure front to back and there had been no mention of blood sucking creatures anywhere.

Zayn smirks. This kid just makes it too easy. “Oh yeah, there are leeches. Big ones, too, about the size of your hand.” Liam glances down at his hand petrified but doesn’t have time to respond before the group reaches the end of the dock. 

Dan claps his hands together loudly to get everyone’s attention. “I know not all of us are the best swimmers but right now we get to show our stuff and earn those certificates!” He punctuates the last three words by throwing his fists in the air like a cheerleader on redbull. Liam raises his hand tentatively. Dan rolls his eyes. “Yes, Liam?” he asks in a condescending tone.

“Is it true that there are leeches in the lake?” Liam looks at the water suspiciously.

“Duh, Liam. That’s why Camp Chippewa has its own ‘I got my blood sucked’ badge.” Dan points to his clipboard. Sure enough, on the list of possible badges ‘I got my blood sucked’ is printed next a cartoon of a leech sporting comically large vampire fangs. Liam takes one look at the drawing and sprints down the dock back towards camp. Badge be damned, he's not losing blood over this.

Moving on,” Dan continues without even batting an eyelash, “what about a personal pair of lifesaving buddies, yeah?” His conniving eyes scan the group of kids as he taps his chin thoughtfully. “Zayn and Taylor, come over here.” He points to the two teens and beckons them over.

“Is that your swimsuit?” Taylor sneers as she walks over, giving Zayn’s black trunks a disdainful once over.

“Is that your overbite?” Zayn responds dully. 

“Okay kids,” Dan interrupts, “for this activity one of you gets to be our drowning victim while the other one gets to practice our lifeguard skills and save their buddy.”

“I’ll be the victim.” Taylor says, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder and smirking like she’s won a prize.

“All your life,” Zayn deadpans.

Taylor rolls her eyes but doesn’t acknowledge his insult. “I’m going to an _actress_ when I grow up. And a multi million mega pop star on the side.”

“Brava, Taylor!" Dan says. "Now why don’t you hop in, swim out a few yards, and start downing. Zayn, you'll jump in and save her." Taylor jumps in the water and swims out a bit before she starts thrashing around and screaming.

“Oh, help me!” She wails while kicking out her arms and legs. “I’m dying!”

Dan motions for Zayn to jump in. “Zayn, aren’t you going to save her?” He asks perplexed. In the water, Taylor takes a big breath and disappears underwater, pretending to be sinking downwards.

Zayn shrugs. “I can’t swim.”

*********** **

“Lou, babe, have you seen my golf clubs anywhere?”

“No, I haven’t. Have you checked the armoire in the basement?” responds Louis, voice muffled. He’s currently in the closet throwing clothes haphazardly into a suitcase because he hasn’t packed for their trip yet, and the flight is today. “Why do you need them anyway? Unless there's a golf course by the place we’re going...” He pops his head out of the closet and gives Harry a pleased look, thinking he's cornered him.     

 Since Louis coordinated their 19th anniversary party last year Harry insists that this year is his turn to plan. Part of his plan includes keeping the destination of the vacation a surprise until the two of them are at the airport. The only hint Harry gave Louis, so that he can pack properly, is that the place they're headed to is tropical. That hasn't stopped Louis from trying to pry the secret out of Harry.

“Who said they’re for golfing? Clubs make very fashionable walking sticks. It’s a new trend I saw in Vogue,” Harry says airily as he exits the room and makes his way to the basement.

The basement of the Tomlinson-Styles family is one of great speculation throughout the town of Witchborough. There are rumors that the house doesn’t contain a basement but instead a dungeon, complete with medieval torture devices and, in some of the most ridiculous stories, the fountain of youth. Half of these rumors make Harry beam, proud of how highly his neighbors think of him. The other part causes him to furrow his brow upset. Louis’ superb talent with skin care spells should be credited for helping his family maintain their flawless, seemingly perpetually youthful complexions.

Opening up a creaky armoire, Harry starts rifling around until his hand makes a purchase and he pulls out a large bag. “Uncle Knick Knack’s summer wardrobe. Nope.” Harry tosses the bag to the side and sticks his hand in and pulls out another. “Uncle Knick Knack’s winter wardrobe,” he reader off the tag. The bag lands on top of the other as he digs deeper into the closet. “Uncle Knick Knack.” He throws the large, body shaped bag down and reaches in to grab the last item. “This better be it, I swear-” he pulls out his golf bag. Giving a great whoop, Harry changes up the stairs with his clubs in hand. He drops it off at the front door with the rest of the luggage.

“Mr. Tomlinson-Styles, shall I pull the car out front?”

Harry jumps at the sudden noise and turns around to see Lurch hovering near the door, keys in hand.

“Yes please, good fellow,” Harry responds, slightly spooked. Lurch has the tendency to silently pop up random places and scare whichever person is nearest him at the time. 90% percent of the time it's Harry because Lurch doesn't want to be on the receiving end of one of Louis’ infamous curses that's he's known to cast when startled.

“Lou, are you ready to go?” Harry hollers up to his husband who's still upstairs.

“Coming, Harry! These suitcases are just so heavy,” Louis whines dramatically as he slowly moves down the stairs. With an affectionate sigh, Harry bounds up the stairs, gives Louis a peck on the nose, and grabs one of the bags. He knows that Louis probably has over packed and that's why his bags are so burdensome.

“Thanks, Harry.” Louis rewards him with a smack to the bum that causes Harry to squeak and cover his behind protectively with his free hand.

Once Harry has everything packed into the hearse’s trunk, and Louis has given detailed instructions to Thing and Lurch about taking care of the house in their absence, they are ready to head to the airport. Lurch puts on his diving cap and sits down behind the wheel as Louis slides into the backseat. He immediately molds himself so that he fits perfectly underneath Harry’s arm. Harry happily complies and pulls his husband closer to him so that he’s almost sitting on his lap.

“Excited?” Harry whispers in Louis’ ear as his hand rubs gently up and down the small of Louis’ back. Lurch starts the car and it jerks forward, making it’s way down the dirt path.

“I’m dreading it immensely,” Louis replies, tugging teasingly at Harry’s curls. “Just me and you alone for a week? Absolute torture.” Harry can’t help but giggle at Louis’ dirty words.

“Oh you'll despise it, _mon petit chou_ ,” Harry promises. “Our destination is absolutely vile.”

“Don’t tease, Harry!” Louis gives his arm a little swat. All of Harry’s taunting has conjured up the most appalling vacation destinations Louis can think of. Visions of Pompeii and the Paris catacombs dance behind his eyes as the car chugs down the street.

When they pull up to the airport Louis swiftly exits the car and has all the luggage out before Harry can even say goodbye to Lurch. Harry simply shakes his head fondly as Louis drags him and the luggage through the airport and towards the kiosk. Harry plugs in his information into the computer and prints out their boarding passes. Once the paper is in his hand, he hands it over to Louis and gauges his reaction to the destination. He runs a nervous hand through his hair when Louis doesn’t respond right away, instead looking a the slip of paper with an unreadable expression on his face. ****

“We’re going to the Bermuda Triangle?!” Louis squeals, breaking the silence, and his usually calm demeanor is exchanged for one not too different from a child in a candy store. Louis leaps at Harry and peppers his face with kisses. The loud scene combined with the the couple's unusually dark apparel has drawn the attention of many people in the airport who've stopping to openly gawk.

“C’mon, boo. We have to check in our bags.” Harry says softly, pulling up for air.

“You will be greatly rewarded for this, _mon chéri_ ,” Louis whispers cheekily in Harry’s ear before slipping away and guiding the luggage to the security check. Harry’s face flames red and he commands himself not to get hard in the middle of the airport before running to catch up with his tease of a husband.

 *********

 Harry beelines for his seat once his group called to board the plane (first class of course, he's a Tomlinson-Styles). His mentality is that the quicker he gets to his spot and sits down the quicker the airplane will leave and the quicker they'll arrive in Bermuda and then the quicker he’ll receive his “reward” from Louis. He's not whipped, he swears.

Louis arrives a few minutes later, nobody will make him rush if he doesn’t want to, plops down in his seat next to Harry after stowing away his bag in the overhead compartment.

The flight attendants run through the mandatory safety briefing and they depart. Harry and Louis watch the buildings below them shrink until they're nothing but minuscule dots, and the monotonous humming of the plane soon becomes white noise.

Harry falls asleep within the first hour, head on Louis’ shoulder and snoring softly. Louis is reading his yellowed and dog eared copy of _Living Wicca_ , glasses perched on the end of his nose. He runs his fingers through Harry's curls the way he knows that Harry likes.

Just when Harry’s about to slay Glinda the Good in his dream, he’s startled awake by a firm kick to the back of his seat. He pops upright and blinks owlishly at the harsh light in the cabin, much less welcoming than the backs of his eyelids. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he turns around to see who disturbed his sleep. Seated right behind him is a little boy, probably around the age of seven, with flaming orange hair and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks. He’s sucking on a large lollypop and swinging his legs to and fro, hitting the back of Harry’s chair in an almost rhythmic pattern. The boy notices Harry staring, and he narrows his eyes challengingly and delivers another swift kick to Harry’s seat.

“Hiya, mister,” the little boy chirps, breaking the silent staring contest between him and Harry.

Harry purses his lips. “Hi, Can you tell my why you’re kicking the back of my seat?” Might as well get straight to the point.

The boy giggles and gives his lollypop another lick. “‘Cause it’s fun.”

Now it is Harry’s turn to narrow his eyes. “Well stop it. It’s not fun for me.”

The kid shrugs. “I don’t care.”

Harry lets out an irritated sighs. He’s going to have to try out a new tactic. “Where you flying to?” He asks, maybe distracting the boy will help.

The boy’s face perks ups immediately. “My mom and I,” he motions to the women asleep next to him, “are going to Disney World!” He emphasizes the last two words with a dreamy, far away look on his face.

Harry furrows his brow. “What is Disney World?”

“Only _The Happiest Place On Earth™,_ mister!” the little boy replies. “Where are you going?”

“My husband and I are taking a connecting flight in Orlando to Bermuda. We’re going to explore the Triangle”

“The Bermuda Triangle?” the kid gasps. “Isn’t that a scary place?”

“Oh, the most dreadful,” Harry drops his voice lower in what he likes to call his ‘spooky scary storytelling voice.’ “Did you know over 1,000 people have disappeared in the Triangle?”

The little boy’s eyes nearly bug out of head at the startling statistic. He meekly shrinks back in his seat, not the confident person he was a few seconds ago. “I don’t like you,” he whispers. “You’re scary.”

Harry beams. Maybe there’s hope for this kid after all. He’s always been a sucker for compliments on his scaring skills. “Would you please stop kicking my seat if I promise not to scare you anymore?”

The little boy nods his head eagerly. “Yes!”

“Thank you.” Harry turns around and snuggles back down in his seat. Just when he’s about to drift off to sleep again, a crackly voice sounds the overhead speakers and jolts him awake.

“ _Ladies and Gentlemen, we’ll be touching down in Orlando International Airport in about thirty minutes. Due to the hazardous winds and thunderstorms occurring in Bermuda right now, all flights headed there from Orlando have been canceled. If you’re one of those people headed there please alert one of our flight attendants when we land. They’ll direct you to our airline’s information desk where we will compensate the cost. We are sorry for any inconvenience this may cause. Have a nice day in Orlando!_ ”

“Shit, Haz, what are we going to do?” Louis asks Harry, disappointment etched across his face.

Harry cuddles Louis closer and presses a chaste kiss on the top of his head. “I’m so sorry, love. We were both looking forward to this trip so much. We’ll work something out.” Louis sighs and just snuggles in closer to Harry while they both think of a Plan B.

 *********

“Zayn, listen babe, I promise I can hook you up with all the best cosmetics. A face like yours shouldn’t go to waste.”  

Zayn rolls his eyes at Lou’s yapping. She’s latched onto him since he’s arrived at camp, and no matter how curt and disinterested he acts she still won’t leave him alone. Lou claims that it’s his ‘alluring and mysterious aura,’ but Zayn knows that it’s because she wants to take one of her brushes and cake makeup all over his face.  Zayn has tried telling her that he likes his simple routine of black eyeliner and isn't looking for a change, but she seems to turn deaf every time he brings it up. She also has given herself permission to sit next to Zayn when he is perfectly content sitting at the picnic table all by himself and glaring at people who walk by. So that’s like strike one, two, and three combined.

“What kind of powder do your parents use?” she probes.

Zayn sighs. He might as well answer or she’ll never leave. “My parents use baking powder.”

“No, silly!” Lou snorts and lightly slaps Zayn’s arm. “I’m talking about makeup powder, you know, for their faces.”

“Baking powder.” A crease forms between Lou’s eyebrows. “ My Aunt Ann Hibbins uses a spray on preservative,” Zayn adds.

“No, sweetie,” the endearment makes Zayn cringe, “I think you mean spray on deodorant.”

Zayn blinks slowly. “Nope. Perservative.”

“Oh, to keep young?” Lou tries, clearly still not understanding.

“Just to keep,” Zayn says before standing up, trying to signal he's done with the conversation. “I think I’m going to head to the mess hall and to get some dinner.”

“Oooh!” Lou scrambles up from her seated position. “I’ll come with you!” She jogs until she and Zayn are walking side by side. “Do you think they’ll have the tater tots again? Those were so good and I forgot to include them in my snapchat story last night, so I hope they have them again and I can snap them today. Do you want to be in my snapchat, Zayn? All my friends are in my story.”

“I’m a vampire, I don’t show up in photos.”

“Oh, stop it you!” Lou giggles. “You’re so funny, Zayn.”

Zayn sighs. This is going to be a long week.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The summer camp plot is inspired by The Addams Family Values, but the rest is mine. Some of the original quotes from the movies and tv show made it in here, look for them!  
> This story involves some dark humor regarding death, so if that could trigger or offend you in any way I suggest you don’t read. There is also some implied smut in this chapter, but nothing too detailed. This is a complete work of fiction and is no way representative of the boys or any people affiliated with them and I do not own The Addams Family or One Direction.  
> Completely unbeated so I apologize for any mistakes. This is just pure silliness

“Can I sit here?”

Zayn looks up from the mashed potatoes he's currently smearing around on his plate to see Liam hovering by the edge of the table, hands gripping his food tray so tightly that his knuckles have turned white. Zayn looks to the others at the table to respond, but Lou’s feverishly tapping away on her phone completely oblivious, and Niall had ditched him a while back to go sit at a different table with his new friend Rory, a major golf enthusiast. Zayn internally rolls his eyes, realizing that he's going to have to be the one to respond, and human interaction, especially with these pastel loving teens, is rough. A harsh rejection materializes on the tip of his tongue, but it quickly melts when Zayn notices that Liam's hands are shaking ever so slightly and his toe is tapping an erratic rhythm against the aged tiles of Camp Chippewa’s mess hall floor. Something flips inside of Zayn, and he supposes that Liam doesn't fit into the J. Crew aesthetic that most of the other kids have here; therefore, Zayn isn't immediately repulsed by Liam’s presence. He will consider this his one good deed of the year.

“You can sit here.” Zayn twists his face into something that he hopes resembles a smile but looks more like a grimace. It appeases Liam though and he plops down directly across from Zayn and starts munching away.

Zayn is about to resume eating until he gets a good look at what's on Liam's tray. His plate is filled with a leafy green salad instead of the lumpy meatloaf that all of the other campers were served.

Zayn’s forehead wrinkles. “Where'd you get that nice food?”

Liam eyes widen. He is stunned that aloof Zayn would even try to engage in a conversation with him. “Ummm,” he stutters while trying to remember how to form words, especially in the presence of this intimidating and gorgeous boy. “I have a serious wheat allergy, and so I can’t eat basically anything they serve here. When I come to camp my parents have to send a list of things I can eat ahead of time so they can prepare them separately.” Liam flushes and self-consciously picks at his food, waiting for some sort of rejection. His disinterest of Lamborghinis and yachts already set him apart from the other kids at his school since a young age. That, coupled with the fact of his allergy, motivated his classmates to torment him daily, calling him a wuss and singling him out whenever it was someone's birthday and he had to decline the enticing cake offered to him. As they got older the teasing stopped, but the memories are still ripe in Liam’s head, resurfacing whenever he has to explain his allergy. Something twists inside his gut and he wonders if Zayn will mock him like the others.

Zayn nods his head at Liam’s explanation. “Okay.” He resumes eating without a second glance. Liam is surprised at Zayn’s nonchalant answer, but doesn’t question it.

And if they spent the rest of lunch in complete silence, making nervous eye contact with each other every once in awhile, nobody can judge Liam if it was the most accepting experience he’s had at camp. And if Zayn departs thinking that maybe camp sucks a little less with people like Liam, then it’s only his business.

*

Harry rubs his hand over his face, disgruntled. He's just gotten off a long cross country flight and was supposed to now be on another one heading towards his dream vacation destination: the Bermuda Triangle. But Mother Nature fucked him over, and now he and his equally grumpy husband are stranded at an airport in Orlando, surrounded by lobster burned tourists decked out head to toe in Hawaiian floral print.

Louis, being the assertive no nonsense person that he is, storms over to talk to the people at the airline’s information desk once he gets off the flight. After forty-five minutes of intense discussion, and one nearly casted curse, he is informed that the only way Harry and he could get to Bermuda is if they were to take the next scheduled flight, which departs next week. Unfortunately, Louis and Harry are unable to go due to their busy home life, this week being their free allotment.

“We could use our flight refund money and buy a ticket back home,” Louis muses. He’s tries not to look too forlorn, because Harry's already very distraught that the vacation is falling flat, and it makes Louis feel awful to see Harry upset, and not in the good way. If he made his own disappointment obvious it'd only heighten Harry's.

Harry worries his bottom lip. “No, Lou, we've got to do something special for our anniversary! Don't worry, I'll think of something,” he reassures. He _has_ to think of something.

Louis sighs affectionately. “Haz, don't-”

“I'll think of something,” Harry repeats, flapping his arm about.

He wanders over to a booth adjacent to the information desk that is labeled _Tourism in Orlando._  He starts rifling through the pamphlets until a vibrantly colored one catches his eye. Plucking it off the shelf, Harry’s eyes scan the front page, which depicts a happy couple flanking the sides of a cartoonish mouse and standing in front of a massive, blue and white castle. 

“Disney World,” Harry mutters under his breath, reading the cursive, loopy font floating over the castle. Why does that sound so familiar? Then it clicks. “Disney World: The Happiest Place On Earth™,” he says in awe, recollecting his conversation with the boy on the airplane.

He scurries over to Louis and shoves the brochure in his face. “I've got it!” Harry crows.

Louis squints his eyes quizzically, trying to read the front cover. “Disney World? Looks rather…happy.”

“Exactly! It'll be awful, Lou! It'll be the perfect scary vacation. I'm going to call and book us tickets and a hotel room for the week.” Harry beams as he takes out his phone and dials the phone number listed on the pamphlet. This vacation is going to _suck._

Before Louis can question what his life had come to he finds himself quashed besides his husband inside an neon yellow taxi hurdling towards Disney World at a breakneck speed. The driver, Paul, or so his nametag reads, was a large man with a kind face. He talks with a thick Jersey accent, and when he hears that the Tomlinson-Styles are headed to Disney he lets out a high-pitched squeal.

“Oh, Disney Land, it’s my kids favorite place! You’ve gotta have tea at Cinderella’s Castle, bro. It’s legendary. You get to meet the Princesses and shit,” Paul says as he weaves around cars on the road casually with one hand on the wheel. “They serve these little cake things. They’re a must have, for sure.”

Harry and Louis give him a polite nod while slipping each other confused glances. There’s actual royalty at this Disney World? They are no strangers to the elite, of course. Both Louis and Harry make sizable incomes and given their extensive family tree they have rubbed elbows with plenty of nobility.

 _It’s just so bizarre that royalty would be found at an amusement park,_ Louis thinks to himself as he feels Harry beginning to suck a love bite onto his neck.

“Harry!” Louis pushes him away. Harry pouts. All these talk of nobility makes him think of his husband’s royal ancestry, which makes him think of his husband, which in turn makes him horny. His husband’s hot and aristocratic, so sue him.

“Here we are gentlemen,” Paul announces as he pulls up to the front of a lavish Disney guest resort. Louis and Harry file out of the car, pay Paul for the ride, thank him, and head into the hotel’s lobby.

After receiving their room key, and plenty of strange looks, Harry and Louis head up to their exquisite suite that Harry dropped what would have been a large sum of money for anyone else to book in such short notice. The two wash up and unpack before crawling into bed together. It's rather late and the long day of traveling drama has worn them out.

“Harry?” Louis looks up from where his head rests on his husband’s chest.

“Yes, _mi vida_?” Harry responds.

“How do you think the kids are doing?”

“I’m sure they’re doing horribly,” Harry promises.

Louis kisses Harry’s knuckles and places their intertwined hands on his stomach. “I hope you’re right.” His muscles relax and his temporary worry melts away and he burrows deeper into Harry's embrace.

Suddenly, Harry gets a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve got an extremely unpleasant idea.”

Louis narrows his eyes suspiciously. “What are you thinking there, Harry?” He doesn’t get a response before his husband leaps off the bed and starts rifling through one of the chest drawers where he'd previously placed his belongings.      

Louis sits up in bed, sheets pooling around his waist. “Harry?”

Harry turns around, smirk on his lips and holding something behind his back. “I’ve got a surprise for you. I brought it from home.”

Louis quirks his eyebrow. “What?”

Harry holds out his palms and stifles a maniacal giggle. In one hand he’s holding handcuffs and in the other he’s got a leather riding crop. Exhaustion completely forgotten, Louis’ eyes darken so that there’s only a sliver of crystal blue outlining the hungry black. Before Harry could speak again, Louis launches himself at Harry and drags them both back onto the bed..  

Harry feverishly kisses Louis’ neck like a man possessed while pressing ‘happy anniversary, love’ over and over into Louis’ skin. Louis shushes him affectionately before placing Harry’s wrists inside of the handcuffs and securing him to the headboard.

"Harry you remember Halloween last year?" Louis whispers seductively into his husbands ear while perched on top of him.

Harry's eyes blacken. "Yes," comes his strangled answer.

"You were so unhinged. You were like a desperate, howling demon that night. You frightened me. Do it again!" Louis commands. Harry smirks through the cloudy haze of lust he's currently engulfed in. Whatever Louis wants, Louis gets.

Needless to say, not a lot of sleeping happened that night.

*

“Hey, listen up everybody!” Simon screams over the deafening noise of the camper’s chatter. Everyone silences immediately. Nobody wants to face the demonic spray tan man’s wrath. Simon is standing on a stage with Ben right next to him, clipboards in their hands and peering down at all the campers, who have been squashed together into tight packs on stiff, wooden benches facing the platform.

“Every summer we like to incorporate a very special play to the Camp Chippewa experience,” Ben begins. “This year with book, music, and lyrics done by yours truly,” he pauses until everyone gets the cue and starts clapping half-heartedly. Niall startles awake by the sudden noise, nearly jumping out of his seat. He glares at the kids around him. How dare they interrupt prime naptime! The only one not tempted by the dream world is Taylor. She is sitting up stick straight with perfect posture and applauding enthusiastically after almost nearly every word.

“And this year, the old bean,” Ben points to his head, “has come up with something pretty exciting: my own personal salute to the first Thanksgiving. I’ve thought long and hard about choosing just the right little performer for the leading role of Sara Miller, our beautiful and kind Pilgrim lady.”  Taylor and her friends giggle excitedly and whisper words of encouragement and confidence that this role was Taylor’s rightful part because there is nobody more beautiful or more kind at Camp Chippewa.

“And,” Simon begins, his pointer finger sweeping across the crowd teasingly, “we have selected…Miss Taylor!” Taylor leaps out of her seat, waves to her admiring fans, and does her best award show _‘who? me?'_  face before gingerly sitting back down.

“The roles her of Pilgrim pals will be: Lileigh, Jenniphyr, Tyffani, Missi, Khloey, and Lakynn!” The blonde girls called release little shrieks of joy. Simon subdues the chaos by placing his finger to lips and raising an eyebrow before nodding at Ben to continue.

“But, of course, not every can be a star.” Ben places his hands on his hips and pouts in fake sympathy. “Let’s not forget our cheery little Chippewas: Mordecai, Yang, Esther, Dante, Irwin, and… I’m still not sure how to pronounce this…” Ben squints at his list. “Jamel?”

“It’s Jamaal.”

“Oh, whatever,” Ben huffs flippantly. “And, as their leader, the secondary, but still compelling, role of Pocahontas. Guess who we have in mind for this mediocre role!” The teens titter to each other their best assumptions of who will get the not as glamorous part.

“Our own little outcast, Zayn Tomlinson-Styles!” The announcement is met with dead silence.

Zayn stares back blankly ahead. If the world had ended in 2012 like it was supposed to he wouldn’t have to go through this. Liam awkwardly pats his back, but he’s not sure if it’s in sympathy or congratulations. Niall releases a huge snore and fart at the same time before snuggling deeper into sleep. Much to Zayn’s chagrin, the world doesn't go up in flames at that exact moment.

*

“Here’s your table, gentlemen,” the sprightly waiter motions to a two person table tastefully arranged with fine silverware. He pulls out the chairs and helps seat Harry and then Louis. “You’re tea and sandwiches will be out momentarily. Have a magical day here in Cinderella's Castle!” He calls over his shoulder before throwing a pinch of glitter in the air and sashaying away.

Louis expression is one of complete disgust as the sparkly gold dust settles on top of his head and shoulders. Harry, sat across the table from Louis, frantically shakes the glitter out of his hair as if it burns his scalp. 

“It certainly is … bright in here.” Louis remarks disdainfully as he absorbs the fanciful atmosphere of the Cinderella’s Castle tearoom. The chandeliers twinkle like a moonlit ocean and the laughter of children vibrates off the walls. Louis can already feel a rash forming and pushes away the sleeve of his somber, black sweater to absently scratch at the redness on his arm. Yes, he has an allergy to happy things.

Harry snorts in agreement and cranes his head to the left and right, looking for something. When he searches comes up empty handed he flags down a server. “Excuse me, but are there princesses here?” he asks the women, straight to the point of their visit. He needs to see some royalty goddammit. 

“They will be coming out shortly, sir, right after the food is served,” the waitress informs.

The tea, sandwiches, and pastries are soon served and Louis and Harry start to chow down the delicious food. Just as Harry is about to shovel another tart into his mouth he hears an airy, flighty voice drift over by the side of the table.

 “Why, hello there. How are you doing today, gentlemen?” The chipper brunette speaking flattens down her frothy, yellow ball gown with her hands, causing the shiny fabric to glitter in the light. Harry’s eyes travel upwards and he takes in her voluminous, curly, brown hair that a tiara is nestled amongst. Her doe brown eyes stare unblinkingly at Harry and Louis, waiting for a response, while a frozen smile resides on her cherry lips.

“Who the hell are you?” Harry questions before he can stop himself. He’s usually not this blatantly impolite, but the cheerful decor and atmosphere has him on edge.

The woman's eyes widen and her and her face slips for a millisecond before she schools her composure. “I’m Princess Belle, of course. I’m visiting from the Beast’s castle, where we rule from. We live with our good friends our good friends Cogsworth and Lumiere and many others. I'm sure you're familiar with them."

Louis furrows his brow and goes through his mental catalogue of all the royalty he's ever met. “I’ve never heard of the Beast’s castle. What country is it in?”

“France.”

Harry scoffs. “You’re not the Princess of France. France is a republic and the royal family doesn't have ruling power anymore! You said you rule from your castle, but you can't rule” Harry sits back in his chair, proud as a peacock to have caught this faux princess in the middle of a lie. He'll have to inform the manager of Cinderella's Castle's tea room that they have an imposter.

Belle coughs awkwardly into her fist before rearranging her face back into a smile. “Would either of you like a picture together?” she asks, sugary sweet and trying to smooth over the tension so she can move onto the next table.

Harry leans forward his sit and narrows his eyes at the "princess." “My husband and I came here to see actual nobility, not to see someone playing dress up. You are a phony!” Harry’s voice keeping rising. He's feeling very passionate about this. He and his husband were promised a meet and greet with actual princesses, goddammit. Louis nods his head in agreement. The entire tearoom hushes and everyone turns to watch the scene go down.

Belle’s lip wobbles and she looks around like a lost puppy dog looking for someone to save her from the situation. Her training never went this deep into how to deal with grown men who get angry that the princesses aren’t actual nobility. He must have never watched any of the movies.

A tall man in a dark suit hurries over to the table. He whispers in the woman’s ear and has another server quickly escort her out of the room. He turns to the Tomlinson-Styles with a fire in his eyes. “Out. Now.” he seethes. Louis and Harry quietly fold up their napkins and make their way out of the castle with the manger hot on their heels.

“I’m putting this down as your first Disney World strike,” the man spits and he types furiously on his Disney employee tablet. “You must leave the park for the rest of the day. This also means if you get one more you’re booted from the entire park for a year. You got me? He looks into Harry and Louis’ eyes for an indication that they understood, and then he turns on his heel and walks back into the castle.

Harry and Louis look at each other in stunned silence before both snickering. “Did you see her dress, Haz? It was terrifying.” Louis shudders at the burning memory of Belle’s frivolous get up. He, unlike his husband, could forgive impersonating a royal, but wearing the color yellow? Inexcusable.

Harry chuckles and nods his head before looping his arm around Louis’ shoulder. “C’mon, love.” He presses a kiss on his temple before steering them towards the park exit. Their all black outfits almost glow against the pastel surrounding of the park, and everyone else scoots around the couple giving them a wide girth. Louis and Harry don't notice, too busy gazing into each others eyes.

"Louis?"

"Yes, love?"

"When's the last time we waltzed?" 

"Harry...it's been hours."

Harry smiles with his dimples showing prominently and then takes Louis by the hands, and the two begin to waltz in the middle of the Magic Kingdom.

 _Hopefully the subsequent days in Disney will be as eventful as this,_ Harry thinks to himself, looking down on the gorgeous face of his husband. He'd do anything to see his Louis this tormented.  _I would die for him. I would kill for him. Either way, what bliss_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If everything works out the next chapter will be the last one :)  
> I'm pretty sure there are no such things as "disney strikes" haha

**Author's Note:**

> Title from part of an Edgar Allan Poe poem: "And so being young/and dipped in folly,/I fell in love/with melancholy"


End file.
